Chapter 6 - SHADOWS ON THE MORTGAGE
The country club matrons didn’t wait for dish number three.
Within ninety seconds, the dining room cleared out in a frantic scramble of mink stoles, designer clutches, and muttered excuses. Mrs. Kensington didn’t even look at Fiona as she practically sprinted toward the private elevator foyer, already clutching her phone to her ear to broadcast the scandal to every social register in Chicago.
When the elevator chime rang, taking the last guest down, only the five of us remained in the penthouse: Julian, Fiona, Darcy, myself, and the two stoic deputies.
Fiona sat frozen in her emerald dress, the steam from the saffron risotto gone cold, staring at the legal documents scattered across her birthday setting. “Sloan... please. You don’t understand. Julian was under so much financial stress. We did this for the family. You have so much money... your father left you millions! What were we supposed to do, let Julian look like a failure?”
“You were supposed to be my family,” I said, my voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Instead, you locked me in a dark kitchen and told me to crawl on my knees for sixty plates of food.”
“You set me up!” Julian roared, finally snapping out of his stupor. He rounded on Darcy, pointing a shaking finger. “You coached her! You fabricated these offshore accounts! I built this life! I managed our social calendar, I made her relevant in this city! Without my family’s name, she’s just an awkward heiress with a dead father’s checkbook!”
“Your family’s name is currently attached to three separate counts of bank fraud and felony grand theft,” Darcy replied calmly, opening her briefcase and producing a certified blue-backed folder. “Julian Vance, you are officially served with divorce papers, an emergency freeze on all domestic and international assets, and a notice of immediate eviction. The court has already frozen your commercial logistics accounts. By tomorrow morning, your corporate credit cards won't even buy you a cup of tap water.”
Julian lunged forward, not at Darcy, but at me. “You miserable bitch—”
Before he took two strides, both deputies tackled him against the wall. His cheek was pinned firmly against the hand-painted wallpaper he had forced me to pay fifteen thousand dollars to install. The metallic click of handcuffs echoed through the room—the exact same sound that had locked me in the kitchen twelve hours ago.
“Julian Vance, you’re not under arrest yet for the civil petition,” Deputy Miller grunted, securing the cuffs behind Julian’s back. “However, you are being detained for threatening a petitioner under an active order of protection. You’re leaving this building right now.”
“Mom! Do something!” Julian screamed, thrashing against the officers. “Call Uncle Richard! Call our lawyers!”
Fiona sat immobile, tears finally cutting dark tracks through her heavy makeup. “Julian... Richard died two years ago. We don’t have any lawyers. You told me Sloan was paying the retainers...”
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I walked up to Julian, standing inches from his red, sweating face as the deputies held him upright.
“You told me to pack my bags and get out of your house,” I said softly, looking dead into his wide, panicked eyes. “Now, Julian. Pack your clothes into two garbage bags under police supervision, or leave with nothing but that cashmere robe.”
